_Thier._ That being no man, I am married to no woman; The best of men in full ability, Can only hope to satisfie a wife, And for that hope ridiculous, I in my want And such defective poverty, that to her bed From my first Cradle brought no strength but thought, Have met a temperance beyond hers that rockt me, Necessity being her bar; where this Is so much sensless of my depriv'd fire; She knows it not a loss by her desire. _Brun._ It is beyond my admiration. _Thier._ Beyond your sexes faith, The unripe Virgins of our age, to hear't Will dream themselves to women, and convert Th' example to a miracle. _Brun._ Alas, 'tis your defect moves my amazement, But what [i]ll can be separate from ambition? Cruel _Theodoret_. _Thier._ What, of my brother? _Brun._ That to his name your barrenness adds rule; Who loving the effect, would not be strange In favouring the cause; look on the profit, And gain will quickly point the mischief out. _Thier._ The name of Father, to what I possess Is shame and care. _Brun._ Were we begot to single happiness I grant you; but from such a wife, such virtue To get an heir, what hermet would not find Deserving argument to break his vow Even in his age of chastity? _Thier._ You teach a deaf man language. _Brun._ The cause found out, the malady may cease, Have you heard of one _Forts_? _Thier._ A learned Astronomer, great Magician, Who lives hard by retir'd. _Brun._ Repair to him, with the just hour and place Of your nativity; fools are amaz'd at fate, Griefs but conceal'd are never desperate. _Thier._ You have timely waken'd me, nor shall I sleep Without the satisfaction of his Art. [_Exit_ Thierry. _Enter_ Lecure. _Brun._ Wisdom prepares you to't, _Lecure_, met happily. _Lecure._ The ground answers your purpose, the conve[iance] Being secure and easie, falling just Behind the state set for _Theodoret_. _Brun._ 'Tis well, your trust invites you to a second charge, You know _Leforte's_ Cell. _Lecure._ Who constellated your fair birth. _Brun._ Enough, I see thou know'st him, where's _Bawdber_? _Lec._ I left him careful of the project cast, To raise _Protaldie's_ credit. _Brun._ A sore that must be plaister'd, in whose wound Others shall find their graves, think themselves sound, Your ear, and quickest apprehension. [_Exeunt._ _Enter_ Bawdber _and a servant_. _Bawdb._ This man of war will advance. _Lecu._ His hour's upon the stroke. _Bawdb._ Wind him back, as you favour my ears, I [lo]ve no noise in my head, my brains have hitherto Been imploy'd in silent businesses. _Enter_ Devitry. _Lecu._ The Gentleman is within your reach Sir. [_Exit._